


we’re gonna build a temple to our love

by morningham



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Slow Burn (kinda), demon!hisoka, lots of tea drinking, two idiots in love, vampire!chrollo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningham/pseuds/morningham
Summary: Yesterday I heard you sayYour lust for life has gone away.It got me thinking, I think I feel a similar way,And that's sad
Relationships: Hisoka/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	we’re gonna build a temple to our love

**Author's Note:**

> title / summary are lyrics from the wonderful song Cult of Diyonisus, which i listened to on repeat while i wrote this

He’d thought as far as the undead went, he was fairly well known. Chrollo had been alive for approximately five hundred and thirty two days. Twelve hours and ten seconds if one were to care about specifics. Apparently, he’s not as popular as he thinks, because the demon currently making himself at home at his dining room table seems to think he’s a human. Or at the very least, a being with a soul to bargain away. He allows the demon to prattle through his speech, one Chrollo has heard several times over the years. The tea kettle whistles on the stove, and yellow eyes blink expectantly.

“So? What do you think?” The demon gleams at him, and Chrollo wonders if he’d said his name when he was speaking.

“I’ve never met a demon with yellow eyes before.” Chrollo really had just wanted some peace and quiet. He’d been banking on a quiet night in, full from the slaughter he’d just drank his fill of. He’s ready to sleep for a few years and start right over when he’s hungry again.

The demon _giggles_ , sweeping his hair back even higher off his head. “I’ve never met such a fearless human. I suppose we’re both a little out of the shallows aren’t we?” Chrollo can’t help but admit he’s charming, pale skin glowing against the clash of his flame red hair. Chrollo suppresses the yawn clawing its way out of his throat and moves to the stove to brew his tea.

“You’ll give me whatever I want if I say you can have my soul? Is that it?”

“Mm, more or less. Whatdya say?” The demon purrs, delicately scraping his nails across the already notched tabletop.

“Sure.” He clanks the spoon against the side of the cup noisily. “What do I need to sign and where?

The demon grins at him. “I tend to seal my deals a bit differently.” He sticks out a hand. “My name is Hisoka, by the way.”

“Chrollo.” He tentatively takes the man’s outstretched hand, and despite his rather strong stance on the floor is yanked into the man’s chest.

“Well Chrollo, have you decided what it is you want?” Chrollo doesn’t know how to put a price on eternal damnation. Humans are moronic and he knows the demon is waiting for him to blurt out something stupid like “Money” or “True love.” He languidly blinks, and if he’d still had a beating heart it might be jumping out of his chest from his proximity to Hisoka’s mouth.

“I want to curl up with my book and have my tea before it gets cold.” Hisoka seems confused by his words briefly, because of all the things to sell your soul for; a well loved copy of _War and Peace_ and chamomile are fairly menial. Hisoka doesn’t ask him if he’s sure though, rather smiles softly and leans down to gently press his lips to Chrollo’s. It’s chaste and rather innocent, but Chrollo supposes in a demon’s line of work frenching humans is decidedly not the most sanitary.

“You’re an odd creature.” Hisoka informs him, visibly jubilant. “I’ll be seeing you!” He snaps once and all that’s left is a billowing cloud of acrid smoke. Chrollo sighs, if he pauses enough can hear the cicadas chirping in the night air outside. He lights a candle to read by and settles onto the couch. Years slipped past like hours when you lived forever. He anticipated seeing Hisoka in what felt like a week. He’s not sure how long he reads before his eyes start to feel as though they’re weighed down with sand, and what little is left of his tea has long since grown cold. He contemplates getting up and falling asleep in his bed, but his legs are starting to feel as though they’re made of lead. He throws his shirt and pants off onto the floor, and once the blanket has settled warmly across his shoulders allows sleep to carry him away. He wakes dizzy and disoriented, and feels as if he’ll die if he doesn’t eat something. He stumbles to the kitchen, and if there was a God he’d thank him for modern appliances. Keeping blood during the Middle ages had proven to be a ridiculous challenge. He pops one of the bags open with his nail, the smell of metal pushing his fangs through his gums. Chrollo opts to gulp it straight out of the bag, not bothering for a cup, and once he’s crushed the bag feels somewhat better. The sun hangs low in the sky, shrouded by clouds, and he realizes he’s in winter. It’s a nice change from summer, allows him to skulk about the streets a bit more freely in his old dark coat, and people don’t ask him if he’s headed to a Shakespeare convention. He contemplates calling Franklin, because he’s bored and could use some company, but when the answering machine greets him on the other end he decides solitude is fine. Chrollo knows he’ll see them soon. He eats the least out of the seven vampires in their little clan, and if he’s starving he knows they’ll be absolutely famished soon. Chrollo had been the first to be turned. They’d all been fairly young, hadn’t known each other in their human lives but Franklin, a lumbering brute of a man had stumbled upon Chrollo during a hunt, and they’d decided to split the meal. Once turned into twice, and soon there had been a rather motley family formed. Vampires were fiercely loyal, Chrollo had learned, and they’d kept close to each other for the better half of three hundred years. He’s long since finished _War and Peace_ , and after a rather scathing shower decides he’ll wander into town and find something else to read. The streets are quiet, storm clouds brewing, and the few people left on the street are hurriedly rushing to their cars or to catch the last few trains of the evening, umbrellas bouncing overhead. Chrollo doesn’t mind the rain, as the first few drops fall allows himself to walk even slower. Water washes away the smell of blood, and he’d rather not accidentally attack someone on their commute home. The little bookstore on the corner is the only shop with it’s lights still flickering, and Chrollo raps twice, shuffling on the stoop. A voice from inside yells for him to come in, and Chrollo shakes the few water droplets clinging to him before stepping in.

“The light was on, you didn’t have to knock Chrollo!” The girl at the counter peers owlishly at him over horn rimmed glasses. He vaguely recognizes her, can’t remember her name so he opts you wave slightly at her.

“I didn’t see an open sign.” Chrollo explains, and the girl shrugs.

“I’ve been meaning to get a welcome mat for this place. Haven’t seen you in a while, have you been on holiday?” Chrollo nearly bursts out laughing at the thought of taking a vacation, instead manages a friendly smile and nod before wandering to the back of the store. It smells like old books and lavender, courtesy of the candle that was lit near the counter, and after a few moments of searching finds a second edition copy of _Dracula_. It’s just ironic enough that he decides he’ll take it, spends a few more moments glancing around for any other texts that peak his interest and when he finds none, heads back to the girl who is paging through some young adult novel Chrollo has never heard of.

“Just this, please.” He slides the book to her and she glances at him momentarily before punching in the amount into the register, which chimes happily as the drawer slides open.

“Dracula, huh? You’re a fan of the classics, aren’t you. Odd for someone your age!”

The clerk happily takes the cash he hands her. He shrugs incrementally, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his coat. “I suppose. Never read this one before.”

“Oh, it’s amazing. Vampire stories are my favorite. Twilight left something to be desired but I guess they can’t all be winners right?” She hands him his change, and he catches her nametag, glinting in the low light. Tabitha. He wonders if Tabitha would die of fright if he were to bare his fangs and tell her what he’d just had for a late lunch.

“I guess not. Thank you.” He smiles at her, and she smiles back, picking up her book again. _Twilight_. He’ll have to ask Matchi if she’d heard of it.

“Stop knocking! You’re welcome in here anytime, Chrollo.” She pats his arm as he walks to the door, buried in her book again as he steps out. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the next time he comes by the little shop he’ll stand outside until he’s invited in. He hopes she invests in that welcome mat. They often don’t hear his first knock, and on more than one occasion he’s been left standing awkwardly at the door waiting. The air is crisp and prickles his eyes as he meanders back to his home, a little cottage he’d found twenty odd years ago.

“Is it that time already?” Chrollo had forgotten to lock his door. He knows demons don’t use doors, and that Hisoka would have been lounging on his couch regardless of a locked entryway or not.

“You haven’t aged a single day. How is that possible?” Hisoka peers at him, assessing, unmoving from his sprawled position on the couch.

“I moisturize. What do you _need_.” Chrollo bites back a sigh of relief at not coming back to an empty home. He rarely had company, the rest of the clan rather solitary creatures themselves. They weren’t like a typical family, desired privacy and some semblance of human life, each of them in their own odd way. He muses that will probably change as they trek through the next hundred years.

“I just came for a social call.”

“Would you like some tea?” Chrollo blurts out before he really thinks about it. Hisoka taps his chin as if he has more important places to be, and Chrollo can feel a vicious blush creeping up his neck. Hisoka rises gracefully from his position on the arm of the couch, moving toward the kitchen table where he’d first appeared.

“I don’t really drink tea, but I won’t turn down the offer.” He watches Chrollo fill the kettle and set it on the stove, flicking the gas on before settling to wait for the water to boil. They stare at each other for a moment, Chrollo trying to find something to start a conversation, has no clue where to start.

“So, what have you been up to?” He scratches his neck, eyes flicking down to his lap when the demon keeps staring at him. “Collecting souls here and there, torturing the damned, you know, typical demon stuff.” Hisoka rests his chin on his fist, never taking his eyes off of Chrollo’s. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.” Chrollo replies without hesitation. In theory it was the truth, he’d been turned on the eve of his twenty-sixth birthday, and hadn’t aged a day since.

“Why?”

“I like to have a rough estimate of when I’ll be dropping in for a non-social call.” Chrollo debates telling him the truth, but this is the most fun he’s had in a while. He’s surprised the demon couldn’t smell his lack of blood flow, every one he’d come across in the past had realized their mistake nearly instantly. Maybe he’s new to the gig.

“You might be waiting a while.” Chrollo informs him, tucking one leg up onto the chair. Hisoka tilts his head, looking straight through him, as if he can suddenly see that Chrollo has been lying to him.

“I can be patient. Especially when I’m after something as delectable as you.” Hisoka winks at him, seemingly growing more bold as Chrollo’s translucent skin turns a roaring pink. He can’t believe that he can still turn this color, dead as he is. It’s unfair. The tea kettle starts to make its high pitched thrum on the stove, and Chrollo roots in the cabinet for two mugs and the tea bags.

“I have oolong, chamomile, and,” He pauses to glance at the box. “Wild berry.” He doesn’t remember buying the last one. It’s a bit dusty, but he plucks a few bags from it anyways. Doesn’t hurt to try.

“Whatever you’re having is fine. I’m not partial to anything in particular.” Hisoka tells him, and he digs out two more bags of the berry to plop into the second mug. He nearly trips carrying the scalding tea back to the table, watches Hisoka stifle a grin as he sets down the steaming cup in front of him.

“I might not have to wait long if you accidentally crack your head open.”

“You won’t be so lucky.” Chrollo has many a time, in terms of what the human body was resilient to, died. He’d nearly lost an arm on a hunt once, which Matchi and Paku had laughed so hard over they’d nearly lost the humans they were chasing. Hisoka doesn’t reply, takes a tentative sip of his drink and keeps staring at Chrollo over his mug.

“Must you keep staring at me like that?” Chrollo sighs, exasperation seeping into his voice, and Hisoka turns his lips into a loose smile.

“You’re just so nice to look at Chrollo. I rarely get to enjoy humans.” Chrollo scoffs, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. He’d kept his hair loose after sometime in the late 1800’s, when a priest had seen the cross stamped into his forehead and tried to burn him at the stake. The feeling of having your skin on fire was extremely unpleasant, and he’d decided he’d rather not experience what modern day priests did to heretics.

“What, kissing them isn’t something you enjoy?” He’s having trouble not thinking about the way their last meeting had ended. It’d left something churning in his stomach, a strange want to try it again and see if Hisoka’s lips really did taste like honey or if that was a figment of his imagination.

“Normally they’re pretty lousy at it. Always trying to overcompensate.” Hisoka sticks his tongue out and makes a face at the thought. “Slimy little creatures, you humans are.” Chrollo can feel every muscle in his body tighten like violin strings, wants to ask if _he_ was lousy, and he doesn’t know why he cares what this demon thinks. He’ll probably be killed by a hunter before Chrollo can see him next. He sips at his tea to avoid letting the question tumble past his lips. It’s rather bitter, but he doesn’t keep sweetener in the house, and despite that it’s still quite good for how long it's been sitting in the cabinet.

“Are you wondering if you were unpleasant?” Hisoka prods, and Chrollo glares at him. Hisoka stands, stepping closer until he’s looming over Chrollo in his chair. “I quite enjoyed what little I was given.”

Hisoka is so close he can feel his lips ghosting over his own as he speaks. If he were to tilt his head up even a millimeter their lips would be meeting, and Chrollo finds himself aching for it. Hisoka tilts his head again, hair tickling Chrollo’s cheek, and cards one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck before carefully tilting his head up. Chrollo is surprised that demons know anything about tenderness, feels Hisoka stroke his thumb over his cheek and swipe at his bottom lip before sucking at his tongue. Chrollo feels as though he’s going to pass out, and while he’s out of practice vaguely remembers how to kiss back. The touch is gone too soon, and as Hisoka pulls away he’s left with the feeling of his lips buzzing. He blinks up at the demon, who is gazing at him again.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Chrollo.” He says softly, worrying a piece of his hair between two nimble fingers. “Enjoy what’s left of your life.” He vanishes again, leaving Chrollo dizzy and coughing in the cloud of smoke before he can say goodbye himself. He sits there for a moment, brings his fingers up to his mouth to chase the feeling and through the haze can hear his phone ringing. The rest of the clan had invested in mobile phones, but Chrollo would never admit he was terrified of the little black boxes and had begrudgingly agreed to get what was known as a landline. The line rings twice before the call drops, and he crosses to the living room where it’s hanging on the wall, waits for the call to come through again.

“Hungry?” He can hear Nobunga snort at him through the phone, and they arrange to meet on the platform. He knows he’s the last to receive the call, hangs up and looks for a clean shirt to wear. His stomach growls when he arrives at the train station, gaze lingering on each small huddled group of people until he spies Matchi’s vibrant pink hair bobbing through the crowd. She rushes to him, pulls him in for a quick hug and Franklin and Paku trail behind her.

“Hi Danchou! Ready for dinner?” She gleams at him, nearly vibrating with excitement, and he laughs lightly, pulling his coat tighter around his body.

“I’m absolutely starved.” Feitan appears behind him, Uvo lumbering at his side. It’s nice to see them again, Paku wrapped around Matchi like a shawl while Feitan and Uvo explain what they’ve been doing the past few years. Chrollo notices how they pair off, years of companionship seeping through their casual touches and glances. He feels a bit out of place, and Franklin nudges him gently as Matchi chatters on about the new house she’d bought with Paku.

“Sorry I didn’t answer when you called, Chrollo.” Franklin speaks low enough that the rest of the pack can’t hear him, blocking them from view. He looks mournful, hands jammed deep into his pockets, and Chrollo just gives a non-commital shrug.

“It happens. I suppose you can’t be waiting for my call at all hours, can you?” He isn’t hurt by it. Knows that his oldest friend liked to fill his days with adventure, and had a terrible habit of falling for beautiful human women that died far before him. Chrollo is smart enough to assume he was out on one of his trysts, had mentioned in passing the last time they’d spoken he’d met someone. He debates introducing Franklin to Tabitha. They’d get along.

“Oh, it’s good to see your miserable faces again.” Nobunga’s happy crowing jerks him out of his musing, allowing himself to be squeezed into a bone crushing hug.

The train chugs into the station moments later, and the seven of them weave into the crowded car. He figures they’ll go to their latest hunting spot, enough time has passed for them to blend conspicuously and pick off a few farmers and their livestock at least once more before they become legends in the area. He’s content to listen to his clan talk amongst themselves, sharing what they’d been up to, where they’d gone, and the low buzz of voices is soothing on his ears. He’d missed them, much more so than he’d cared to admit. After all, he’d spent several lifetimes without them, and years were nothing compared to centuries. They split up once the train grumbles to a halt at their desired stop, roving off in pairs to round up a few unlucky villagers. Chrollo thinks if he’d waited even another hour to feel the wind prick his face as he ran, chasing the woman screaming through the tall grass he would have perished. She goes quickly, more from fright than his fangs sinking into her jugular, and Franklin appears triumphant with a rather large cow under his arm. They settle in a small clearing, Uvo and Feitan reappearing first, Nobunga dragging two corpses behind them. Matchi and Paku unceremoniously dump a youthful man onto the heap and they all drink until content.

“That stupid cow’s blood is never going to come out, is it?” Paku whines, dragging her finger over the blood staining her purple blouse. She sighs, resigns herself to reality and flops back against the carcass, dragging Matchi to curl at her side.

“Absolutely not.” Chrollo frowns at the blood covering his own shirt, nearly forgetting how messy they could be when starving.

“So Danchou, read anything noteworthy lately?” Uvo prods him with a foot to the ribs, and he tucks his legs up, lounging back on the grass.

“No. A demon tried to take my soul again though.” He knows the clan finds these stories wildly entertaining, and he’s proven correct when Feitan nearly chokes on the mouthful he’s swallowing.

“How long did it take the thing to notice this time?” Franklin snorts, heaving the drained body into the grass beside them.

“I think he was new, because he didn’t.”

“So you made a deal?”

“A rather stupid one, yes.”

“Chrollo, if you’re that bored why don’t you try and go out sometime?” Franklin wipes a stray tear, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of his voice. Chrollo almost admits that he’d liked Hisoka’s company, decides he could touch on that another time, and swats lightly at the hulking vampire next to him.

“Oh! How about you all come for dinner soon!” Matchi suggests, fingering the buttons on Paku’s blouse until her hand is swatted away. A happy chorus of agreements rings through the frigid air, and Chrollo blinks up at the sky. It hasn’t changed in all his years, and that is somewhat comforting. No matter his position on the Earth, gazing up into the night sky Chrollo could always pick out constellations his mother had taught him as a child.

Hunger sated, their energy starts to dampen, and Chrollo can feel Franklin’s heavy breathing slowing next to him. He knows they can’t rest here, risk being found in the morning by curious townspeople. He weakly lands a kick to Uvo’s shins, and one by one they each teeter slowly to their feet and migrate back to the train station. The first train of the morning rumbles in, and thankfully the car is empty. Chrollo isn’t sure how they’d handle being seen looking as if they were fleeing from a crime scene. The sway of the train nearly lulls him to sleep, only jolting him awake when it hisses into the station. The others have another stop to go, and Chrollo gathers his coat before mournfully waving goodbye on the platform. He misses them. He starts his weary trek home, picking at a loose thread he’ll need to fix in his coat, before it starts to unravel.

“I stopped by your house.” Chrollo nearly jumps out of his skin at the low voice coming from under the lone street lamp, yellow eyes slitted in the dim light. He moves to cover the blood on his shirt instinctively, but Hisoka is quick, yanks his wrists down to his waist. “Did you just kill someone Chrollo? Hades Almighty, I didn’t think you’d had it in you.”

Chrollo yanks out of Hisoka’s grip, wrists burning, and stomps down the cobbled road. “You don’t know me at all.”

“But I’m trying to, can’t you see that?” Hisoka pouts, tugs on his sleeve like a child and when that doesn’t work, settles for stepping on the heels of his shoes. “I brought you a present.”

“Oh? I didnt know peace and _fucking_ quiet could be boxed up and wrapped.” Deep down he wants the demon to stay. Wants him to kiss him again and Chrollo would sell his soul a thousand times over if it meant Hisoka would stay.

“I know you want me to stay, and I also know you can’t keep me out of your house if you wanted to so I'll see you at home.” Hisoka vanishes and Chrollo kicks the ground so hard one of the stones flies into the air. He briefly thinks about lining his doorway with salt, but as far as he knows that’s an old wives tale and he doesn’t feel like taking the chance. He kicks at another rock, this time misreading the trajectory and catching pebbles to the face. He swears loud enough a light flickers on in the flat across the road and he starts running before anyone can investigate. By the time he reaches his door he’s irritated, bleeding, and a thin sheen of sweat is making his shirt cling to his chest.

“Did you get jumped on the way home?” Hisoka asks dryly, perched on the couch, which seems to be his favorite spot, and Chrollo rolls his eyes, hanging his coat by the door and stomping the rest of the way in.

“A rock hit me in the face.” Hisoka bursts out laughing at him, which does nothing for his mood, and after a moment the demon collects himself, prancing across the living room.

“Can’t be left alone for even a moment.” He pats Chrollo’s cheek, which does nothing but make the cut sting, and jams his hands in his pockets.

“Here.” He produces a small box, and upon further inspection Chrollo can see it’s tea. It’s a flavor he hasn’t heard of, _Blood Orange_ , and it’s just a little bit ironic.

“Thank you, Hisoka.” Chrollo can guess that the demon probably does this for everyone, makes it easier to build a friendship before torturing them for all of eternity.

“Aren’t you going to make us a pot?” Hisoka demands, scraping the chair back and flopping down. Chrollo fills the kettle, tries to ignore the blood drying on his hands before his fangs push through. He sets it on the stove, readies the mugs before scrubbing his hands clean, working at his shirt. He inspects it momentarily before balling it up and absently throwing it in the trash.

“I’ll be right back.” Chrollo tells the demon, who is eyeing his shoulders like they’re his last meal. He finds a white t-shirt in one of his drawers and drags it on, and one glance in the mirror tells him he’ll need to shower. He’s filthy.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Hisoka pesters as he pours the water over the tea bags, setting the cups between them to steep.

“No.”

“Fine, be difficult. I’ll just guess. I do love games.” Hisoka narrows his eyes at him, and Chrollo can feel his entire body heating up, tense and wound up with need. “I think, you went hunting.”

“You think I’m the type to kill an innocent animal?” He is, if you could count humans as animals in a sense. He’d never touched a bow in his life, had never wanted to kill. It was strictly a necessity. However, sometimes what was necessary could be fun.

“I think you’re the type to kill when you’re hungry. Am I getting warmer?” Hisoka sips at his tea, letting a smile creep across his face. _No_ , Chrollo wants to scream. _You’re freezing,_ _ice cold and very wrong_. All he can do is nod.

“Mm. So where is the prey, I wonder?” Hisoka pauses, glances at the cut on his face and a red tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Oh.”

“What?” Chrollo doesn't like the way the demon is staring at him, like he’s suddenly become the enemy. Hisoka just stares, unblinking, and Chrollo thinks for a moment maybe he’s dead.

“You aren’t human at all, are you?” Despite the look on his face, Hisoka’s tone lacks malice, or anger. He simply seems surprised, as if the thought had never once crossed his mind. Chrollo thinks perhaps he should’ve pursued acting.

“No.” Chrollo feels as though if he doesn’t explain himself he might explode. “I just didn’t think it would take this long for you to realize.”

“You think I haven’t known from the start? Human hearts tend to pitter so loud I can hear them from a mile away. Yours doesn’t even beat, _vampire_.” The demon laughs again, scratches his temple. “I simply find you fascinating, Chrollo.”

“Why? I’m sure you could have much more fun toying with humans.” Chrollo feels like he’s going to die from embarrassment. Hisoka stands, coming to rest in front of his chair again, looking down again, and the feeling of arousal is back, curling in his stomach like a small sprout breaking through dirt.

“I like you. Despite your _inhuman_ capabilities, you’re still so frail. If I were to press hard enough I truly think you’d crack into a thousand pieces. I want to test my theory.” Chrollo doesn’t stop his fangs from pushing out of his gums. He isn’t sure if Hisoka means that as a threat, and doesn’t have much time to think about it as Hisoka presses his thumb against Chrollo’s upper lip, skin white against his fang.

“Beautiful.” The demon whispers, yellow eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

He feels he can safely assume Hisoka isn’t going to drag him to the depths of Hell as the demon pulls him up from his chair, pressing their lips together for the third time. It’s as intoxicating as the first, Hisoka’s tongue lapping against his fangs as it slides deeper into his mouth, claming, and Chrollo can’t catch his breath, not that he would need to. Hisoka pulls away to stroke his hand down Chrollo’s neck, thumb resting at his throat, lightly stroking.

“Be a good host Chrollo, invite me to stay.” He whispers, and Chrollo can’t help the shudder that courses through his entire body, buzzing at his toes.

“Would you like to stay Hisoka?”

“More than anything.” Hisoka shoves at him lightly, and Chrollo stumbles back, nearly falling into the wall, where Hisoka cages him in, kissing him again with much more eagerness. He can’t help the moan that rises from his throat when Hisoka slips a warm hand up his shirt, pads of his fingers ghosting across Chrollo’s chest. He tugs at Hisoka’s own black dress shirt, pulling it out of his slacks as his lips roave across his wide collarbone, kissing every inch of skin available to him. He bites gently, tastes the sweet demon’s blood that rises to the surface, and nearly loses control as another warm hand moves to shove down into his trousers. He has enough of a mind to pull back, drag Hisoka down the cramped hallway lined with old musty books into his bedroom, and Hisoka just grins at him, bites at his neck as they tumble back onto the bed. Hisoka drags at his pants, shimmying them off his hips to bite at the exposed skin, and Chrollo whines again, feels Hisoka’s finger dip into the waistband of his boxers and tread over his cock, and the demon is still fully dressed, though when Chrollo cranes up to kiss him again his hair is mused around his head like an off kilter halo.

“Do you do this for everyone?” Chrollo panics momentarily, thinks of himself as a small notch in a well worn bedpost and Hisoka shushes him, teases his fingers at Chrollo’s entrance until he bucks into the touch.

“Most certainly not. It’s been many years since I’ve done this.” Hisoka gleams, pressing a finger in and the burn is instant, and as he finds the spot that makes his toes curl Chrollo can’t believe he’s not had some practice. He adds another finger, and Chrollo is scratching angry red lines down his back, pushing his shirt off his shoulders to nuzzle against the demon’s broad chest, keening noises falling out of his mouth.

“You’re perfect.” Hisoka tells him then, working his clothes off until they’re rutting against each other, naked and hard, and Chrollo absently thinks if this is what Hell is, Heaven must be a never ending orgy of indescribable proportions. He doesn’t register Hisoka replacing his fingers with his cock, the burn muted by the way Hisoka licks the cut on his cheek before kissing Chrollo again. He tastes his own blood, bland and dead against his tongue, aches for a sip of Hisoka’s own, honey sweet. The demon drags his thigh up to lock around his waist, thrusting into Chrollo so hard he nearly hits his head against the wall. Hisoka keeps speaking to him through the fog, tells him how beautiful he looks, nearly stopping to press a kiss to his sweat slicked forehead.

“Please, Hisoka. Let me taste you.” Chrollo nearly chokes on the words, clouded by lust and the way the pit in his stomach has grown into a towering redwood, curling into his toes. Hisoka presses their foreheads together, nuzzles Chrollo’s nose against his own before snapping his hips again. Chrollo paws at his hair, tugging to keep from jackknifing into the wall, and Hisoka seems to be deep in thought, unfazed by Chrollo’s litany of _pleases_.

“What does it taste like, then?” Hisoka drops his head onto Chrollo’s shoulder, moving his hand from his cock to Chrollo’s throat, squeezing. He nips, a droplet of blood daintily popping to the surface and Chrollo catches it on his tongue, whimpering as Hisoka squeezes harder, harder than should be possible.

“Like the sweetest wine you’ve ever tasted.” Chrollo wheezes, and Hisoka presses another kiss to his nipple, nipping lightly as he fucks into Chrollo. He tries not to bite down against the demons neck, nearly screams as his orgasm crashes over him like a wave upon sand, and he’d forgotten what it felt like, the bliss of it all. Hisoka moans, nearly lifting Chrollo off the bed to cradle him as he stutters through his own release, holding the vampire to his chest until Chrollo pushes at him, sensitive and aching. Hisoka smiles at him, thoroughly fucked out and blissful, pets nimble fingers through his hair.

“You could drink your fill of me forever, Chrollo.” The demon purrs in his ear, melodic and gentle and Chrollo pushes into the warmth of his arms like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Mm, but what would I give you in return for such a lovely gift?”

“I only want you to be mine.” Chrollo knows demons work loopholes like a carpenter works wood. There’s a clause, hiding beneath the lustful promise, and he knows he has to find it. “There’s no catch. Do as you please amongst the humans, read your dusty old books, all that I ask is that you come home to me, in this bed. For eternity.” Hisoka blinks down at him, eyes soft and big, as if nothing would please him more.

“Where do I sign?”

**Author's Note:**

> bookstore was loosely based on the wonderful, amazing, fanfuckingtastic terminallyxdepraved’s own vamp fic! i highly recommend reading all of their fics- they’ll knock your socks off! 
> 
> as always, find me on tumblr @morningham, thank you so much for reading!!! <3


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